


indulgence

by thoughquaking (xigithy)



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Master Isa AU, Masturbation, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Trans Male Character, itty bitty baby scent kink- like blink and you miss it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-15
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-06-28 13:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19813558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xigithy/pseuds/thoughquaking
Summary: nounthe act or practice of indulging; gratification of desire.The yellow scarf of Isa's childhood friend is a security blanket for the keyblade master but, sometimes, it's something more.





	indulgence

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same AU as my Keyblade Master Isa fic, but not necessarily related. This is _horribly_ self indulgent and I'm sorry.

He should be resting- recovering his strength. The last battle with Lea- now only hours since passed- left Isa bruised and beaten and  _ tired _ , but as he sits on the floor of his bedroom, back pressed against the wall, he can’t stop his brain from buzzing. 

It had been… different, this time. Lea-  _ Axel- _ had brought with him all the fire and fury that Isa has come to expect from their encounters, but when it had come down to it- when Lea had disarmed Isa and pinned him to that wall, sharpened blade of a chakram pressed insistently to Isa’s throat- Lea hadn’t ended him. There was a moment, right in the heat of the climax of their clash, where Isa had looked at Lea, a pleading apology in his brilliant emerald eyes, and felt something snap in his old friend. Lea had backed off, mumbled something about it being ‘too easy like this’, and took off through a Corridor before Isa had even had a chance to regain his bearings.

Frowning, he reaches for the bright yellow scarf tied around his neck and wraps a hand around it, squeezing the fabric tightly. It’s a habitual response, one borne of a need to remember- to memorize exactly what it was that Isa was fighting so hard to reclaim. 

“Lea…”

With a shaky sigh, Isa readjusts his position, setting his legs into a stance that offers him a little more leeway and shuts his eyes. This is not nearly as practiced a tradition as fiddling with the scarf itself, and it’s one Isa would be mortified if anyone found out about, but since his reconnection with Lea, it’s become something of a guilty pleasure that he’s been very loathe to deny himself. Isa softens his grip on the yellow fabric, tugging at it to loosen it from around his neck, and brings the thing up over his nose. He inhales once, deeply, and reacquaints himself with the familiar perfume of it.

It hasn’t smelled like him in  _ years _ , but there’s a comfort in the memory of the scent that is intoxicating in its own right. He leans his head back against the wall, eyes fluttering open to offer a lustful look to nothing in particular, and slides his free hand down between his legs. He runs a hand over the warmth of him, offering a teasing pressure against the fabric of the clothing, and takes in another quick whiff as he moves to undo the belt and fastenings of his pants.

There’s very little hesitation in the way Isa dips his hand under the fabric and runs a single finger slowly along his slit; there’s already an inviting wetness waiting for him and the warmth of his hand meeting and melding with that between his thighs draws a shudder from the keyblade master.

He wiggles further down in his seat against the floor, widening the stance of his legs, and walks his fingers to the bundle of nerves at his nexus. The tip of his middle finger brushes it and Isa gasps as his muscles flex involuntarily around nothing. Slowly, teasingly, he circles a finger around his clit and bites his lip through a moan that escapes at the slightest hint of pressure against the nerves.

Half lidded eyes roll back into his head and Isa’s breath begins to labor, heavy with want, as he works his fingers against himself. It’s a well-rehearsed choreography, and one that hardly requires any real thought, so it’s very quickly that his mind begins to wander.

In Isa’s mind,  _ he’s _ there, less intense than their usual interactions and still unequivocally Lea. Isa offers a passing thought to their lips passionately,  _ finally _ , meeting each other, the culmination of years of repressed desire, and his breathing hitches as his insides seem to ache from neglect. He imagines those long, slender fingers touching him,  _ fucking him _ endlessly, and Isa’s hips begin to rock in a more steady, imploring pace. 

Finally, he relents to his own ache and Isa slips a finger slowly inside himself with another deep inhale. He wonders… Would Lea like this? The sight of Isa, curled on the floor- soaking wet and fucking himself lazily to the thought of the other man? He adds another finger then and curls them, pressing deep into his cunt and reveling in the absolute ecstasy as he clenches around the digits. Isa grinds his pelvis against his hand, shuddering at the way it makes the heat rise deep in his belly. 

His fingers work faster now and each thrust inside him is like electricity beneath his skin. Briefly, his mind wanders again to Lea, and Isa wonders if he’s ever been in this position. Nobodies don’t have the heart to feel emotion, but the physical aspects of the deed still remain, right? He wonders if Lea’s ever lied awake at night and fucked himself to the thought of Isa; a selfish, needy part of him hopes so.

He’s so close now that he can taste it and as his hips rock desperately against his own hand, Isa moans into the fabric still covering his face. His ragged breathing melts into a low whine as he pulls out completely to return attention to the throbbing ache of his clitoris, and each touch of a finger against it sends a shiver down his spine.

“L-Lea….” 

Isa calls the name out like a pleading whisper, spoken with all the reverence of a prayer. All at once, a familiar tightening of his core takes him and warm heat spreads like a fire through Isa as he comes. Isa repeats the name, a mantra to accompany the pleasure, and he surrenders to the profound wave after wave of bliss that washes over him.

After what feels like ages, his body finally grows still, and Isa collapse slack against the wall. His head is still thick with the fog of an afterglow, but even still, the bruises and aches of his fight with Axel are demanding attention, and Isa finds he suddenly can feel each and every injury tenfold. Maybe he  _ should _ get some rest; a keyblade master is only as strong as his weakest asset and- at the moment- he’s in no condition to suffer another battle with the nobody. Yes, a quick rest, then it’ll be right back to work.


End file.
